


compass points you anywhere (closer to me)

by omgprepon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Modern AU, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, brief mentions of death, gets fluffy-ish, kinda angsty at the beginning, might be slowburn idk, sort of a roadtrip au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgprepon/pseuds/omgprepon
Summary: lexa needs time, clarke offers much more.orthe not-so-roadtrip road trip au





	1. look towards the west and find a friend

the first time they meet, it’s pure chance. a bump of the shoulder, a muttered _sorry_. brief eye contact. nothing further, hardly memorable.

 

the second time around, clarke’s car needs to be jump started and lexa pulls over onto the dirt road, offering to help. a muttered _thanks_ , barely making eye contact. _hardly memorable._

the third time lexa catches blonde hair, she’s the one pulled over on the side of the road because her damn eyes won’t stop these _stupid fucking tears._ there’s a knock on the driver’s window. an intake of breath, a muttered apology, hardly any recognition.

 

  //

 

lexa needs a change of scenery. she thinks she should head out west. maybe she’ll forget. she packs up her things, barely anything at all, a few impersonal belongings, a book or two. a duffel bag filled with clothes and all the money she’d been saving. lexa thinks of heading west, escaping the cold, leaving behind the things that flash before her lids every time she closes them. she thinks of somewhere warm, somewhere that will offer her a period of reprieve, that will let her _forget_ , however briefly.

 

on nights when the chill in her bones gets too much, when she feels like she’s freezing over from the inside out, she still remembers being woken by that call at three a.m. she still remembers how shaky anya’s voice had been. how uncertain she was, worried, frantic, scared. lexa remembers the way her name sounded in anya’s curt tones, almost achingly soft if it wasn’t for the harsh goddamn click of the x. she knew that something was wrong, she could _feel_ it.

 

“what?” lexa’s tongue felt thick, the word, harsh.

 

“lex, i’m so sorry. it’s costi─”

 

lexa remembers hearing, but not comprehending. all these words being spoken to her at three in the morning, all these words that _scare her_. lexa’s still stuck on that first sentence, the words ricocheting off of the walls of her brain.

 

_lex, i’m so sorry. it’s costia._

_lex, i’m so sorry. it’s ─_

_lex, i’m so sor─_

_lex, i’m s─_

_lex─_

_it’s costia._

lexa remembers how difficult it was to get herself to breathe, remembers the words curling themselves around her throat, her lungs, her _heart_ and squeezing. the only thing lexa can hear is the mellifluous lilt of costia’s voice, of her laughter, of the last thing costia said to her, but then ─

 

“lexa, are you listening?” anya.

 

she tries to make her voice work, to push the words past the bile she feels in her throat, but the sounds get stuck at the back of her mouth as her brain finally starts processing.

 

_lex, i’m so sorry_

_it’s costia._

_there’s been an accident._

_the plane._

_lexa. please say something._

_lexa, i’m so sorry._

_she didn’t make it._

lexa still hears anya’s intake of breath when the phone clatters to the ground and she finds herself falling with it. (she still remembers it all and she needs it to stop.)

 

_“you’ll miss me when i’m gone, alexandria.”_

and then nothing.

 

//

 

with an insurmountable sadness coursing through her veins, lexa attempts to leave her past behind her, attempts to leave it on the front porch of the house she’s been living in for the past three years (a house that stopped being a home after that one fateful call) and drives away from it, without stopping, without looking back.

 

when she passes the fifty mile marker, she stops at a gas station, to fill her tank, to catch a breath, to make sure that this is what she wants. to reassure herself that this is what she _needs._ she unbuckles her seatbelt and decides to pick up few bottles of water and some essentials that she didn’t pack while her car gets filled, as she makes her way over to the convenience store she doesn’t let herself think about the fact that she hasn’t told anyone that she’s leaving. doesn’t let herself think about anya (anya, who she owes _so much_ to. anya, who has been trying her best to hold lexa together these past few years) and how she’ll react, how she’ll feel when she finds that lexa has left, when she finds out that lexa is running, because that’s what she’s doing, isn’t it? she’s _running_ , away from her life here, her responsibilities, her demons.

 

she’s deep in thought, so lexa doesn’t see the blonde staring intently at the floor, doesn’t see that they’re walking the same path, doesn’t see the red rimmed eyes. doesn’t _see_ , until they collide, gently, but it’s still enough to break her from her silent state of rumination. even then she barely pays attention, a quiet “sorry” is offered to her as an apology and lexa returns a tight lipped smile in response before she’s on her way to get the things she needs so that she can get away from here.

 

when she gets back into her car and starts the ignition, she doesn’t notice the head of blonde hunched over the steering wheel of the car parked next to her own, shoulders silently shaking and chest heaving in an attempt to meter her breathing. she doesn’t notice that same car pulling away from the gas station before her. she doesn’t notice the car heading in the same direction that she plans on going.

 

as she pulls back onto the road, the screen of her phone is illuminated by an incoming call. a quick glance at the cup holder she dropped her phone into showcases the image of a familiar face that fills the screen, lexa lets out a soft sigh as she removes one hand from the steering wheel. her thumb hovers over the green button for a brief second before her jaw clenches and her index finger hits the power button instead. she tosses her phone onto the passenger seat, screen black.

 

so, with no specific destination in mind (anywhere but here is good enough for now), lexa shifts the gear of the car with a white knuckled grip and looks ahead. _hoping_ that she’ll find whatever it is that she wants out of this.

( but _hope,_ they say, _hope is a dangerous thing_ )


	2. it's easy, until it isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's angst. also Clarke's kind of a romantic, tbh

 somehow clarke found it easy, packing up her things and putting it in the trunk of her car, her father’s guitar placed carefully atop her clothes. somehow clarke managed to look at her mom and tell her, chest heaving, voice hoarse, eyes ablaze, that she was leaving, that this was the best decision for her, that this is what the she needed despite abby disagreeing with her. despite the telltale signs of the latest war brewing between the two of them, the everyday build up, constantly climbing higher and higher until it reached its inevitable peak, the spewing of poisonous words between two people who have grown apart. words tossed around callously in fits of rage, words that _cut_ and _pierce._

it was easy for clarke, to say goodbye, thinking about the amount of shit she was leaving behind, for her to detach herself from the situation and pretend that it didn’t bother her, pretend that she could do this. it was easy for the blonde to tell her mom that she was _sorry_ , that she loves her while walking out the door of her childhood home. it was also just as easy for clarke to break down in her car the minute she closed the door  (knowing that her mom was watching her, knowing that her mom wasn’t going to comfort her).

 

with a white knuckled grip on the soft leather of her steering wheel and a deep steadying breath, clarke starts her car and puts it in drive. she tries not to think about where she’s headed now, tries not to think about how much she has been avoiding this place, how long overdue this visit is, how she hates that these are the circumstances that finally push her to set foot in the one place she refused to for so long.

 

the journey doesn’t last half as long as clarke needs it to, she barely has enough time to pull herself together when she has to stop. she doesn’t feel ready yet, she’s _this close_ to falling apart and she’s ninety-nine percent sure that she can’t do this, but she knows she must. she knows she can’t leave without saying goodbye to the one person who always, _always_ understood her.

 

so she gets out of her car and she walks.

 

//

 

she finds it easily, the grey granite, the path ingrained into her brain and when her feet come to a stop, it feels like all the air in her lungs has escaped her. she almost changes her mind, she almost turns back and goes home. _home,_ she doesn’t think she’s had one of those for a while. clarke sighs and tries to catch her breath, tries to breathe as she turns her gaze skywards taking in the soft thunderclouds, the calm before the storm. filling her lungs, she takes the final steps and lowers herself onto the dirt.

 

“hey, dad.”

 

clarke’s forehead touches the cold tombstone and that’s all it takes before silent tears are painting her cheeks. her fingers curl into the dirt and she tries her best to ground herself.

 

“i’m sorry i didn’t get you any flowers, i─”  she lets out a wet chuckle as her voices cracks, as her voice breaks, as her heart shatters a little more.

 

cerulean irises are hidden as clarke closes her eyes and lets out a breath, lips lightly grazing the stone. lightly grazing words that will never do justice to all of the memories of her dad that she has tucked into the corners of her mind, words that feel too little but enough at the same time. she pulls back slightly, eyes opening to take it in.

 

**_jake griffin_ **

**_best friend, father, husband._ **

**_may we meet again_ ** _._

“i’ve been trying, dad, i’m _trying_. but it’s so hard, dad and i─” the words leave clarke’s lips as a whisper, she thinks maybe it’ll hurt less if the words are barely heard, maybe it would be less _earth_ _shattering_ if the words didn’t resonate, “i miss you, dad. _so much._ every day.”

 

there are so many things that clarke wants to tell him, about how she misses him, how much she would give to see his soft smile and his even softer eyes, about how she followed her dreams and studied art instead, about how much she has disappointed  the only parent she has left. the tears that stain her cheeks are made up of all the things that she has bottled up inside of her, they speak of nights spent _drowning_ herself in alcohol, about months of isolation, about the time she nearly lost faith in everything. they speak of the nights clarke cried herself to sleep in her dorm room, wishing that she was in the arms of her father. missing the way it felt to have his strong arms protect her from everything bad in the world, missing the sound of his laughter and his dumb dad jokes, missing how happy he made her mom, missing how he made their little family feel whole and enough. missing him, missing him, _missing him._

clarke thinks about the last thing her dad ever said to her, the last thing he made both her and her mom promise him. clarke thinks about it and hears his voice in her head, she feels her chest expand and _expand_ until it’s at the point of bursting and when it does she lets out a choked sob.

 

“i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sor─”

 

 the rest of her sentence is lost to the chest-heaving sobs that fall from her mouth and clarke almost doesn’t feel the soft patter of rain that starts to fall. the rain feels fitting somehow and clarke _embraces_ it, embraces the feeling of relief it offers her and in some weird way she hopes it would cleanse her, though she knows this unlikely, she naively wishes that it would wash away the disappointment she has in herself, of herself.

 

clarke sits for a few more minutes, lets the rain soak her clothes before she leans her head against her father’s name one last time and stands up. she pushes the hair out of her eyes and takes it in, the dirt, the white granite as it glistens beneath the rain, the memory of her dad and lets out a shuddering breath.

 

“i’m sorry, dad.”  _i’m sorry i broke my promise. i’m sorry i’m letting you down._

 

with another breath, clarke turns around and slowly walks away, not looking back once, but with every step she takes, it feels like more weight is being placed on her shoulders and she’s _exhausted_. clarke thinks that she’s pretty sure that it was supposed to be the exact opposite, that she was supposed to feel some sort of relief after this, that she was supposed to feel lighter with every step she took away from the things that haunt her. maybe it’s like this because there are so many things still left unsaid, so many things left behind. maybe there’s no respite for her because she’s running away, she’s _running_ and she hates that she has been reduced to this. but there’s only so much that her friends, the people who _love_ her, can do for her when clarke refuses their help and their forgiveness. there is only so much they can do for someone who doesn’t want to be helped.  (but they don’t understand that she needs to do this on her own, that she’s not running, she just wants to heal.)

 

when she reaches her car she thinks about where she’s going and what she’s doing and she hopes, _prays_ , that she’s doing the right thing.

 

//

 

she stops at a gas station.

 

clarke thinks that since she doesn’t actually have a clue as to what she’s doing, she can _at least_  make sure that her car is filled up. as clarke makes her way out of her car, she glances at the sign above the gas station’s convenience store that reads _mount_ _weather,_ the name is unfamiliar to her and she steels herself before taking measured steps towards the entrance, takes the first steps away from her hometown, everything else, all those other little steps she took to get here were just the prologue. this, this right here was the beginning of her new story.

 

when she’s in the store, clarke grabs a bag of pretzels, two bottles of water and some sunscreen, she might head to the beach, _who knows?_ she sure doesn’t.  when clarke reaches for her wallet at the cash register, her eyes fall on the picture of her and her dad and the reality of what she’s doing finally sinks in. the cashier clears his throat and clarke offers a sheepish smile in apology as she hands him the money, her thoughts miles away from the shitty store she’s in right now. as she takes her purchases and turns around to leave, she’s still deep in thought and she doesn’t pay attention to her surroundings until she’s met with a warm body, there’s a hand on her waist that steadies her and the warmth of the touch pulls her out of her silent reverie. clarke lifts her head just in time to catch startling green eyes.  she wants to apologise, but the words get stuck in her throat due to the lack of use, due to the amount of times she had to pull over on the side of the road because she couldn’t see through the tears, due to how caught up she finds herself in celadon irises.

 

when she finally manages to find her voice, a soft _sorry_ falls from her mouth and green eyes barely pay her any attention, barely glances at her as clarke receives a tight lipped smile in response. it’s the first time clarke has spoken a word since leaving the cemetery what feels like years ago and suddenly she’s reminded of what  she’s doing _here,_ of what she’s leaving behind and it’s overwhelming. clarke doesn’t know anything other than the life she’s been living, the people she’s been living it with and she was leaving it all behind her, in hopes of finding solace, of healing herself.  she barely makes it to her car before there are tears trailing their way down her cheeks again, and clarke wishes she could keep her emotions in check without bawling her eyes out every minute, she really wishes she could get her shit together.

 

as clarke starts up her car and hits the road again, she drives aimlessly, with no destination or direction besides _away_. she takes in the pastel hues of the sky as the sun begins to set, the overcast sky has long since cleared up and the artist in clarke appreciates the aesthetic. somehow the daze she finds herself in she makes her miss the sudden fuming beneath the hood of her car until the engine completely dies and she finds herself stuck.

 

clarke lets out a frustrated groan and her fists hit the steering wheel. she should’ve known that maybe her impromptu trip would take more than the already beat up ford her dad bought her for her sixteenth birthday, but this car is the one thing she couldn’t leave behind. there are so many happy memories caught between the leather seats and clarke _can’t_. her head replaces her fists against the steering wheel and clarke inhales deeply (when she left the gas station she promised herself that she’d try to get her shit together as best as she could and that includes not crying again for at least a while). she doesn’t lift her head as she tries to regulate her breathing and curb the oncoming panic attack because she’s in the middle of wherever the fuck and the sun has begun to set and she’s _stuck_.

 

she’s so caught up in her frantic thoughts that she doesn’t notice someone approaching her car and she jumps as a knock on her window startles her. there’s a hooded figure on the other side of the window and clarke is absolutely certain that rolling down the window would be a _very_ _bad_ _idea_ , she wishes that she picked up a knife at the store for at least some form of protection. but then the hood is being removed and a hand gestures at the hood of her car and clarke thinks serial killers shouldn’t be this pretty as she takes in braids and an intense gaze that feels familiar. clarke raises her eyes to look into the rear view mirror and sees the black jeep behind her that she didn’t even hear pull up, she should probably start paying more attention to her surroundings. as she rolls down her window she’s met with what she thinks are the same green eyes from the gas station and before she can voice this, the owner of said green eyes speaks up.

 

“do you need some help?”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> lets see where this goes.
> 
> hmu over at cloneclubclexa.tumblr.com and share your thoughts


End file.
